


Be As Melting Snow

by Jougetsu



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Always Independent North, Arranged Marriage, Canon AU - Homosexuality Accepted, Canon AU - Lyanna Lives, Courtship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-25 19:10:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14385252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jougetsu/pseuds/Jougetsu
Summary: Stannis Baratheon does not think much of Robert's offering him in matrimony to Prince Eddard Stark of Winterfell. He may yet change his mind.





	1. Courtship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Plaid_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/gifts).



> Set in a Canon AU where homosexuality (and same-sex consortships/marriages) are accepted, Lyanna lives, the North was always independent, and the Baratheons are taking a stab at making Happily-Ever-After work for them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis Baratheon does not think much of Robert's offering him in matrimony to Prince Eddard Stark of Winterfell. He may yet change his mind.

“He is making overtures, Ser Davos!” Stannis fumed and turned on his heel to pace the room afresh. “Overtures!” 

Davos nodded his head with all due solemnity. “Should he not, my lord?”

“Of course he should not!” Stannis fought the tightness in his throat and pursed his lips. He paused in his tracks and searched desperately for the words to make his vassal understand. “Lord Stark claims to value my-” 

“Good opinion?” Davos hazarded. 

“My happiness!” Stannis half snarled for the very notion was absurd. “Lord Stark claims to wish for my felicity and yet instead of persuading Robert to call off this absurd betrothal he wants to make overtures. Overtures!” 

It bore repetition because Stannis Baratheon at the ripe age of twenty had realized quite early in adolescence that no one in their right mind would be making overtures to him. He would be married according to his guardian’s will for political advantage of their House. Any hint of romance would simply have to be met with skepticism for he could still hear the unkind whispers around Storm’s End slithering ‘twixt his ears. 

After a quarter of an hour Stannis ceased pacing for it occurred to him that he was wearing down the carpet and he hated the thought of the servants spreading it around that Stannis Baratheon paced like a nervous man or worse a guilty man. Davos had been blessedly quiet and worked on some sailor’s knotted charm until Stannis retreated to his writing desk. 

“My lord,” Davos began gently as though Stannis were an easily spooked stag in the wood. “It occurs to me that Lord Stark is sincere in his claims.”

Just as Stannis’ scowl began to deepen with the suggestion of wounded betrayal Davos hurried onward. “Leaving aside your brother’s hopes for the alliance how do you feel about Lord Stark as a husband? If the choice was wholly yours?” 

“I never deluded myself that I would have any choice in partner,” Stannis avoided Davos’ gaze. He rifled through his papers as though they would hold some answer. “It was always expected that I would marry for the benefit of House Baratheon.” 

“Of course, my lord,” said Davos. “But I doubt your esteemed parents would have chosen a partner that would cause you unhappiness.”

“Robert might,” Stannis chewed his lip until he realized the action. “He is furious over the Targaryens escaping Dragonstone. If he had his way he’d marry me off to the homeliest and most sour woman in Westeros.” 

“Then why does he push for Lord Stark?” asked Davos. “He could indeed have ordered you to marry a widow or widower, there are plenty from the war. He could have sent you to the Wall if he considered Dragonstone such a betrayal.” 

“Because he wants Lord Stark for a brother,” Stannis hissed and he felt his rage shoot up his spine until his shoulders ached from restraint. “He’d rather Eddard Stark at his side and no other.” 

“He already has Lord Stark for a good-brother,” Davos pointed out. He stretched his legs out a bit as he anticipated their discussion might go on for some time. Stannis was not one to drag things out, but he did prefer matters to be thoroughly investigated. “With his marriage to Lady Lyanna, your Houses are intertwined. If anything it doesn’t benefit the kingdom to waste your choice of spouse on the same House when one views things politically.” 

“You agree then that he wants Lord Stark as his brother.” Stannis did not pose it as a question. 

“I do agree and it is natural for people to want to keep close those they feel a kinship with,” Davos treaded lightly here. “Just as I think it a shame that he does not appreciate the brothers of his blood as much as he ought.” 

“It is still absurd,” Stannis swallowed hard. With a faintly trembling hand he reached for the pitcher of watered-wine and filled his goblet to half. His thoughts would not come to order. They fluttered uselessly about his skull. “If he simply wants Lord Eddard Stark near he need only ask the man to stay. He’s made him master of laws already.” 

“Perhaps we are looking upon the matter in entirely the wrong fashion,” said Ser Davos, he tilted his head to the side his brows arched in a picture of bemused thought. “Let us forget that you and your brother the king have had some bad feelings of late.” 

Stannis wished he could forget, but he grunted in assent. For the purposes of conversation and the hypothetical he need not actually forgive or forget. “Go on.” 

“Instead let’s only consider Lord Stark in the equation,” continued Ser Davos. “King Robert holds him dear and wishes well for him. But what place is there for Lord Eddard Stark in Westeros? If he returns to Winterfell he may be seen as undermining King Brandon.” 

Scarred and nearly crippled from the burning inflicted by the Mad King, Brandon was still beloved by the Northmen, but Stannis could see that some of that country might prefer a more able-bodied monarch in the aftermath of war. Lord Stark loved his brother too much to sow dissent even inadvertently. Besides there was the matter of pride. King Brandon might assume his brother felt him incapable of ruling the North. Better for Lord Stark to stay in the southron lands and be the link between their countries. 

“Aye and there might be lords who think a King Ned would be easier to control than Brandon the Wild Wolf,” agreed Stannis.

“Exactly, my lord,” said Ser Davos. “Consider too Queen Lyanna. She is not well and Lord Stark is clearly loathe to leave her. Simply being the king’s good-brother does not necessarily entitle him to a place at court when the argument could be made that he may be needed in the North.” 

“Which leaves him unmoored,” Stannis said with a dawning sense of comprehension. Something, he knew not what, began to unfurl within him. There was a warmth, but a prickling sensation, too. “He could go anywhere, but there is no fixed destination for him.” 

“The king seeing his foster brother and good-brother in need of anchoring considers the options. Making him master of laws is good, but is a position that can be filled by others if need be. He thinks of Lord Stark’s loneliness and decides a felicitous match coupled with small council responsibilities is the best chance of making King’s Landing Lord Stark’s new home,” Davos gestured to the red stone walls around them. “He thinks who would make Lord Stark, an honorable and sensible man, happy.”

The gesture was now directed at Stannis. 

“There are better, comelier candidates at court.” The prickling heat intensified. 

“Who knows Lord Stark’s taste and temperament better than his foster brother?” countered Davos. “He believes you to be Lord Stark’s greatest chance at a happy southron marriage. He would not encourage the match if he believed you would be ill-suited. That would only push Lord Stark away.” 

The small, petulant side of Stannis whispered that Davos had not argued on the point of better and comelier. 

“As for better, who is higher than the king’s own brother? As for comely, you are not an ill-favored man, my lord,” Davos smiled with inexplicable fondness. “True there are daintier or more striking, yet tastes vary and you would have many more admirers if you swaggered or simpered, but that’s not in your nature.” 

“No, it is not in my nature,” Stannis murmured as one of his hands fiddled with his cuff. “I follow well your logic, Ser Davos. You have persuaded me that Robert likely thought in the manner you presented. But as you know, Robert’s judgment is not always sound. He is foolhardy and stubborn.” 

“Stubbornness seems to be innate in Baratheons, if you’ll pardon me for saying, my lord.” Ser Davos arched his brows again and Stannis took the point. 

“What of you, my knight? Do you think the match a good one?” It was a question Stannis felt silly to ask. As though he were a lord’s maiden daughter fed on ballads. 

“I think it has the makings of a very good match,” said Ser Davos carefully. “If you will allow yourself the idea of happiness.”

“Happiness is subjective.” Stannis was not given to blushing. 

“Indeed it is, my lord,” Ser Davos grinned. “I think the king would be bored to tears by quiet evenings of cyvasse and earnest debate about laws. Yet I think yourself and Lord Stark would find that quite blissful.” 

The picture Davos painted was more than a little attractive. Lord Stark had very firm opinions, that little Stannis knew of him, and he had to admit it would be invigorating to make real conversation with him without the specter of Robert about. 

“I ought marry a lady of the Reach or Dorne.” Stannis brought himself back from the brink of selfishness. “Or a Lannister. We desperately need ties in those regions. It makes no political sense to wed again to the North.” 

“Ah,” Davos winced, indelicate lines creasing his features. “But your inverse preference is well known in court-“ 

“Speculation,” sniffed Stannis. He hoped his haughty tone hid the hot flash of humiliation that washed over him. “I have been celibate all my life. I’ve shown preference to no one.”

“The speculation is enough to keep families with daughters or widows, wary,” cautioned Davos. “Yes you are the king’s brother which is tempting. But no one will want their daughter to potentially be cast aside for a lover.” 

“I would never-!” 

“Aye, but they do not know you, my lord. They only know what the precedent is at court. That is a recipe for unhappiness and political disaster,” said Davos gently. “You are good to think of your kingdom and your House first. While Lord Stark may not be the most politically sensible candidate, he is not the least sensible either and you shall have someone you can truly bond with.”  
“And if you are wrong, Ser Davos?” The prickling churned up and threatened to sit badly in Stannis’ stomach. 

“I may be wrong, Lord Stannis,” Davos said. “We are only human and can err in our judgments. You must act as you see fit.” He paused and added, “But do try to think a little of yourself. I never knew your noble parents, but if they are anything like Maester Cressen intimates then I’m certain they would have considered your happiness a factor in any betrothal.” 

More than any other point Ser Davos had made that took hold in Stannis’ mind. What would Mother and Father have thought of all of this? They had perished before Robert had left for the Vale and Renly had still been in his cradle. Father had never mentioned their potential matches which was likely because Aerys’ court was too unstable and treacherous to attempt any betrothal longer than a few months. And Mother…Mother was an Estermont. Steadfast and deep, her true feelings were coded into polite phrases to outsiders. She would have wanted him to be happy in a suitable match. Had not Patchface been brought over to make him merrier?

Though when one considered how badly that had ended for Patchface it was perhaps not a cheerful thought. If Stannis still believed in gods he might have wondered if he was cursed. 

It was easy enough to avoid Lord Eddard Stark for a few days. The queen made no mention of her brother’s overtures for which Stannis was grateful. And then came the book. It was wrapped in a square of sturdy linen, delivered to his rooms by a curly-haired Northern page.

‘The Compleat Ships of Essos, Sothrys, and the Summer Isles’ was bound handsomely in leather with tasteful gilt. But most surprisingly it was inscribed:

_For Lord Stannis Baratheon, Master of Ships, may this tome give you illumination and entertainment._

_Yours,_

_Eddard Stark_

Anyone else would have added common courting phrases, love-talk, endearments, and the like. Things which would have made it easy for Stannis to dismiss. Instead the concise message had that prickling and heat returning, had Stannis’ cheeks going ruddy even when no one could see him in his chambers. Eddard Stark proved in one deft stroke that he understood Stannis better than Robert or perhaps anyone else alive save Ser Davos. 

“Damn him,” Stannis told his reflection in the mirror. “Damn him for giving me hope.” 

The next morning the same page was summoned, a Mormont it turned out, to send a missive. It was the tenderest missive Stannis had ever sent in his young life and he burned with shame that perhaps it was too forward or not forward enough. 

_Lord Stark,_

_Your gift gave me unexpected pleasure. It would be an honor to become better acquainted._

_In sincerity,_

_Stannis Baratheon_

“I am glad you liked the book,” Lord Stark said when they met by chance in the gardens. Davos had excused himself and Robert was nowhere to be found. 

“It is both as illuminating and entertaining as you said,” said Stannis. They were not strictly alone and it was not as though Stannis were a maiden whose virtue required vigilance. Still the meeting bordered on clandestine in Stannis’ point of view. “You were kind to think of me.” 

“Not so very kind,” Lord Stark’s smile was both boyish and sheepish. “I would like to court you. Making you happy pleases me.” 

The air did not become thinner, but Stannis could not get enough breath. “You do not need to court me. The king offered me to you.”

“But that does not mean either of us has to accept. Robert would not want us miserable,” Lord Stark clasped his hands behind his back. “I confess I did not think of you as my future spouse until Robert suggested it.”

Because my nose is hawkish and my demeanor unpleasant, Stannis’ heart unhelpfully provided. “Naturally.” 

“Because I thought it unlikely you would accept me,” Ned leaned in and whatever oil he had used upon his neat beard smelled of musk and spice enough to make Stannis dizzy. “I know I am the plainest of my siblings and the most dull. I have no lands to offer and not much in the way of wit. Robert would scold me for arguing against myself, but it is the truth.” 

It could not be. That Eddard Stark consider himself unfavorable to Stannis was laughable. “We are both the brothers of kings, Lord Stark. That alone makes us equals.” 

Really Lord Stark was the true blooded royal. Stannis was merely up-jumped gentry as Robert usurped the throne. “May I court you, Lord Baratheon? If you wish it not then I shall tell Lyanna and she will silence Robert on the topic forever.”

Lord Stark’s eyes were soft, a gray that was the color of the sky before a heavy snow or the shadow of a seagull’s wing. His gaze was not bold or intrusive. 

“You may indeed, Lord Stark.” His tongue ought to have gone heavy. His good sense should have forbidden any notion of want, of longing. 

“May I,” Lord Stark ducked his head slightly. “May I kiss your hand, Lord Stannis?” 

Coming from another it would have been emasculating. From Lord Eddard it became something desirable. But Stannis had already allowed himself too much pleasure today. 

“Not today, Lord Stark,” he said. “But you may ask again another day.” 

“I surely shall.” 

Lord Stark had the tact not to ask in front of others. His manners were warmer than simply cordial to leave little room for doubt at court. The Mormont page scurried about and while Stannis could not say that the child was a gossip all the servants shared a knowing look the more Mormont carried notes. 

“Is this truly courtship?” Stannis wondered one afternoon in the castle library. The spring gales had softened to zephyrs and the sunlight caught rainbows in the stained glass of the windows. It seemed the very tableau for lovers seeking a quiet escape. 

“Why would it not be, Lord Baratheon?” queried Lord Stark. They had ostensibly come to the library to search for a book concerning an old trade route that had come up in conversation with Lord Arryn. The book had been found all too easily and Stannis had found himself wanting to linger. Hidden by shelves of dark carved wood and sounds muffled by the tomes they were more in their own world here than in the gardens. 

“It is too easy.” Stannis frowned. He then realized that Lord Eddard might think him displeased and tried to smooth his expression into something more pleasant, but he probably failed. “Your company is enjoyable, your overtures never untoward, and we have conversations.” 

True that Eddard Stark would never be heralded as a the comeliest man in Westeros, but Stannis noticed that when he smiled his face transformed so beatifically that Stannis could think no one handsomer. “Lord Baratheon, I…I am speechless.”

“Then how will we converse if you have no speech left?” Stannis took a stab at wittiness. Judging from Lord Eddard’s reaction it was well received for he laughed merrily. 

“Are you calling off our courtship then?” For a moment Stannis’ heart skipped a beat or three until he realized Lord Eddard was gently teasing him as that warm smile never left and his voice was wrapped in fondness. 

“You’ll have to make sure to recover your eloquence in time for the wedding.” Stannis affected a haughty air though he belied those words by putting his hands on Lord Eddard’s shoulders to pull him in closer. With his back against the shelves and Ned before him Stannis relished the feeling of being protected on all sides. 

“The wedding?” Lord Eddard seemed to hold his breath. “When is this wedding pray tell? And who is getting married?” 

“I was under the impression that the endgame of courtship was marriage,” Stannis dropped his voice to nearly a whisper. 

“Indeed, but the point of the courtship is to test the compatibility of the ones courting.” Lord Eddard’s lips brushed Stannis’ ear and the shudder that went through him was nearly violent. “Think you that we are well matched enough for matrimony?” 

Stannis was unsure of what words would sound best. He felt he had rather exhausted his supply of wit for the day, possibly the week. In lieu of pretty words he simply nuzzled Lord Eddard and hoped it conveyed what he felt for his suitor. 

“Lord Stannis,” was the hushed reply he received and Lord Eddard put an arm around his waist for the first time. The heavy weight of it was a comfort, not a burden. “Lord Stannis what you do to me I know not.” 

They stayed like that until footsteps drew near and parted with reluctance. “I ought take the book to Lord Arryn,” Lord Eddard said at last. 

“Yes, yes of course,” Stannis half stuttered and left in a daze. 

Stannis Baratheon did not press himself against men. He did not exchange banter. He did not nuzzle, snuggle, or cuddle. He did not tingle all over from having someone he liked being with him in an intimate position. Until today, until this very hour. 

Mormont was sent for. 

“Mormont, what do Northmen exchange as tokens?” Stannis asked without preamble. There was no point in dressing the matter up or attempting deception. Mormont was either clever enough to understand or he wasn’t. 

“Same as most places I expect, milord,” Mormont said with no small amount of cheek. To his credit he swiftly turned serious and continued, “Brooches are common. Good for closing cloaks and tunics. Anything in a circle shape gets the point across.” 

Seeing that Stannis’ face held no trace of comprehension Mormont added, “To resemble a wedding ring, milord.” 

“Ah.” Stannis considered the options. 

“There’s a jeweler, milord. Here in King’s Landing, I mean,” said Mormont. “Would milord like me to inquire about having a brooch made for Prince Eddard?” 

Prince Eddard. Stannis had all but forgotten that amongst his own people Ned was no mere lord, but the crown prince and heir to Winterfell if King Brandon begat no sons. 

“Is the jeweler discreet? Reputable? Skilled?” He could not trust his token to Lord Eddard to just anyone. 

“I wouldn’t recommend him if he wasn’t, milord,” Mormont tossed his curly head to scoff. “He’s the best there is.” 

Which considering Mormont’s patriotism meant that the jeweler was either a Northmen, married to one, or greatly attuned to their taste. “I give you leave to make the inquiry. I would prefer the product to be finished in a week or two, but I can give him a month if necessary.” 

It startled Stannis to think he might be married in a few months’ time. That he might be married at all to someone who was to his liking. 

Ser Davos when asked later thought a brooch a fine gift and then inquired as to the design. Which had not occurred to Stannis to specify a particular design. He assumed Mormont would make it clear to the jeweler the situation and the jeweler would then craft accordingly. 

“Does the gift always design the token themselves?” A knot of worry began to form. 

“Only amongst the fashionable set, I think,” said Ser Davos encouragingly. “The smallfolk often choose from what’s already made. But many lords and ladies leave it to the artisan.” 

“I do not wish Lord Stark to think that I am indifferent,” Stannis wrung his hands, almost discreet and minutely enough for Ser Davos to miss it but not quite. 

“I doubt that Lord Stark believes you to be indifferent.” There was a touch of wryness to Ser Davos’ words. “You are both very forthright.” 

Within ten days the brooch was delivered for Stannis’ inspection. 

It was perfection. Two pewter direwolves chased each other neatly in a circle. Their faces were not crude, but simply rendered in a manner that implied dignity and grace not savagery. 

“Because Prince Eddard is the second son of House Stark I thought two wolves would be good, milord,” Mormont told Stannis with great animation. His snub-nosed, freckled face had oddly become endearing. “Many of the knights and lords, and Northern ladies, will change their House sigils for a personal one.”

“You told the jeweler to render it so?” Stannis was taken aback. He turned the brooch over and noted its weight, sturdy without being overly heavy.

“Was it wrong?” Mormont’s face fell. “Milord,” came belatedly. 

“No it was not wrong. I was surprised at your initiative,” Stannis said.

“Master Yarrow asked what you would like,” said Mormont. “I told him I didn’t know, but that you might like that, milord. A stag and a direwolf might have been good, too, but I thought my lord might think that too forward. And Prince Eddard might worry it would be unlucky before the wedding.” 

All that was left was to deliver the precious token. For all the practice Stannis had been gaining in the way of not-entirely-love-notes he could not fathom what to write to accompany the gift. Was not the brooch an admission, a confession itself? He wrapped it back in its silk and box. 

“I trust you know what to with this, Mormont.” Stannis did not waggle his finger at the page, but it was a near thing. 

“Naturally, milord!” Mormont feigned indignance. “It goes straight to Prince Eddard. Shall I wait for a reply, milord?” 

“N-no,” Stannis swallowed as the thought of anyone else hearing Lord Eddard’s reply before he did. “He may tell me his answer in person.” 

“Yes, milord.” Mormont’s sly grin said a great deal. Stannis misliked that even the greenest pages had better understanding of courtly manners than himself.

What words Lord Eddard spoke upon receiving his gift Stannis did not know and did not ask Mormont, much as he burned to do so. What he did know was that Lord Eddard wore the brooch prominently at the next day’s small council meeting. 

When the meeting concluded Lord Eddard asked for a turn around the garden with Stannis after the others had left. 

Stannis felt foolish asking what Lord Eddard thought of the brooch. After all the man was wearing it upon his breast. The walked the garden lanes in companionable silence until Lord Eddard broke it. 

“Lord Stannis.” It might have been the sunset, but Lord Eddard’s cheeks were rosy. “May I kiss your hand?”

“You may.” No sooner than the words left Stannis’ mouth than Lord Eddard had raised Stannis’ knuckles to his lips. 

“Am I right in thinking your gift meaningful?”

Stannis could feign ignorance and play the coquette. But while he was willing to attempt some banter, this was too serious to allow for misunderstanding. “It means I accept your suit and all it entails, Lord Eddard. If you would have me still.” 

“I am honored and humbled, Lord Stannis,” Ned’s smile was sunlight on snow. 

From some unknown source Stannis gathered strength enough to ask, “May I ask a gift of you, Lord Eddard?”

“To be sure,” Lord Eddard was perhaps as besotted as a lover in a ballad. But his keen intelligence shone through that Stannis didn’t worry he would become a simpering fool. “Anything that is in my power to give you.” 

“A kiss before our wedding,” Stannis said in a rush. 

Stannis knew he would surely bumble his first kiss and the thought that the court would might upon him in mockery burned. 

“Here and now? Or would later suit you?” 

The hedges and arbors hid them from prying eyes which had Stannis answering, “Now, if you please, Eddard.” 

Shockingly there was nearly no bumbling. Lord Eddard cupped the base of his skull and drew close to Stannis. With infinite care Lord Eddard’s lips brushed Stannnis’ lips until Stannis got the hang of the motions. He received at least half a dozen kisses for his request if one was counting each parting to mark a separate kiss. 

The last time Stannis had been so conscious of his mouth was when the cook attempted Dornish cuisine. Though the tingling was not exactly the same for this was sweeter and headier. 

Perhaps, just perhaps, once in a blue moon Robert had a good idea. And one day Stannis might tell him so. 

After the wedding.


	2. Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis is all trepidation about his wedding night.

When one has been upright and honorable and zealous in not wanting to sire a bastard one is usually left with no experience of the carnal variety. Or at least that was Stannis’ revelation. It helped that he was not desirous of women and as he was not popular with the men of Storm’s End he was celibate as a septa. 

Which had never seemed a problem until the eve of his wedding approached. Stannis did not doubt that at some point Eddard would regret marrying him. That was inevitable, a hurricane in the distance. Stannis would rather not hurry that day along. And a disastrous wedding night seemed exactly that sort of catalyst. 

Eddard would discover Stannis was the proverbial cold fish or inept and realize he had chained himself to the worst bed partner in all of Westeros. Perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration. 

Second or third worst bed partner probably. 

Then the High Septon would annul their union and Eddard would be free to find a lord or lady better suited to him. 

Ser Davos did not see it that way and Stannis knew not if that was a curse or a blessing. 

“Lord Stark seems like a reasonable man,” Ser Davos offered. “I do not think he would hold your virtue against you.” 

“Men are not maidens, Ser Davos!” Stannis wished he could scrub his cheeks of their blush. “It is an embarrassment for a man of one-and-twenty to be chaste when he is not a maester or septon.” 

“You did not think so yesterday.” The chief problem and chief advantage of Ser Davos was that he knew Stannis all too well. “For what short time I’ve known you you take pride in your restraint in all matters.” 

“Things have changed since yesterday.” Courtiers were whispering and snickering. He’d caught snatches of jokes about Princess Stannis’ Deflowering around the keep and the barracks. 

“Lord Stannis, people will laugh and make jokes at each other’s expense,” Ser Davos smiled as a brother might. “It does not mean they hate you, indeed most of the naval men are fond of you, protective even. Teasing is not always meant to be malicious mockery.” 

Stannis crossed his arms and told himself he was not sulking. “They do not mock Robert so.” 

“Aye, that they do!” Ser Davos assured him. “But he takes it in stride and makes jokes about himself. Some folks take other people’s business as their entertainment. After your wedding they will likely speak of you and Lord Stark being lovebirds or wantons until there is another couple to whisper about.” 

“It is not personal?” The ways of others were usually alien to Stannis. More than once as a child he wondered if he was secretly foreign-born for the ways of society at large eluded him. 

“Yes, the men call you ‘Princess Stannis’ at the yards and I know you have heard it,” Ser Davos said. “But they are quite fierce of their defense of you. They will hear no slander of you and look for your favor.” 

“Then why I am ‘princess’ to them?” Stannis’ lip curled. 

“You are fastidious and clean,” shrugged Davos. “To some that is a womanly trait, though it is a life-saving one on a ship. And you are royal. Put the two together and the result is ‘princess.’ I never claimed they were clever, my lord.”

That took the sting out of the epithet, somewhat. 

“They’ve even sworn to chase Lord Stark back to the North if he makes you unhappy,” Davos added mischievously.

“It is Lord Eddard who will be unhappy for the reasons I relayed to you,” said Stannis. 

“All married couples learn how they will please each other both within and beyond the confines of their bed.” 

Davos made the situation sound normal. 

“You do not think Lord Eddard will think badly of me for coming to his bed as I am?” 

“He would be a fool and Lord Stark does not strike me as a fool,” Davos kindly patted Stannis on the shoulder. “You shall work it out between the two of you.” 

The books in the castle library were of no help. Even when Stannis found relevant manuscripts they seemed to assume a certain level of knowledge on the part of the reader. Further complicating the situation were the ones that were translations of Essene texts that used euphemisms Stannis could only guess at. 

What on did dusk-hued jade whisks and buds of chrysanthemum refer to? How did one massage hills or furrow mounds? He would not ask the archivists or librarians. The ones with printed engravings were almost worse for the positions became contorted to the point Stannis could hardly tell what gender the participants were and which limbs were which. 

Which led to him half-shaking with nerves after the ceremony. The High Septon had blessed them at the Great Sept of Baelor. The procession back to the Red Keep passed with fanfare, much too much fanfare for Stanni’s taste. And the feasting had been bearable even. Robert was surprisingly reigned in by Lyanna who made sure he danced more than he drank and cut off any remarks that might wound Stannis with a firm, “Robert, that is unkindness. Hold your tongue until you have something better to say.” 

For a woman of nineteen years she was remarkably self-possessed. Stannis wondered if all Northern women the same way or if it was unique to House Stark. 

Eddard did not insist Stannis dance. If anything he was content to sit or speak with guests with Stannis after the first traditional dance was over. 

“I confess I know few southron dances,” Eddard told Stannis when they sat at last. “I enjoy music and merriment, but I have never been the first to stand with the dancers.” 

“I am not well practiced myself.” It was easy to talk to Eddard, to admit things. “I cannot say I have ever enjoyed dancing, but it was not unpleasant with you.” 

Eddard’s eyes said that he would kiss Stannis right then had they not been in public. “If it is unpleasant, you will tell me and we shall make it right.” 

It sounded terribly as though Eddard was not simply talking about dancing. “And you would not think me over sensitive?” 

Touchy. Fussy. 

Eddard shook his head. “Doubtful, my husband. I think a great deal of your good sense.” 

Exactly one goblet of wine was imbibed, Stannis preferred a clear head, and once the midnight hour struck they took their leave discreetly. 

No bedding circus took place when the couple were of the same sex. For that Stannis was grateful. There were a few whistles and remarks from those noticing their departure, but nothing further. 

When they entered their shared chambers Stannis found his hands trembling and was disgusted at his own cowardice. 

Eddard noticed because of course he noticed. He paused in taking off his tunic to kiss Stannis’ humiliatingly shaking hands. 

“Stannis,” no silk was softer than Eddard’s voice right then. “Dear husband, worry not. Let us sleep and all will be right.” 

“It is our wedding night, Eddard,” he did not mean to hiss, but hiss Stannis did. “It must be consummated or our marriage may be considered null by the High Septon, the court, and all and sundry.” 

“We pledged to give comfort to each other,” Eddard tilted Stannis’ chin up. “It is no comfort to force one’s spouse into bed. I wish to ease your burdens, Stannis, not increase them.” 

“You have been saddled with a frigid, untouched man,” Stannis half spat the words and tried to avoid Eddard’s coaxing gaze. 

“If he wishes to be touched that is no hardship and if he wishes to remain untouched I shall understand for he is my husband.” Eddard was too reasonable and it was driving Stannis mad. 

“We must consummate!” Hysteria or mania was creeping up on Stannis now, he could not tell the difference.

“What is consummation between us?” Ned carded his fingers through Stannis’ hair. The motion was more soothing than anticipated. “We cannot make a child together. And even if we were able it need not be rushed.” 

Stannis fumbled with the ties of his silk tunic. The stags stitched in the cloth-of-gold tunic had seemed faintly ridiculous compared to Eddard’s gray doublet at the ceremony, but in the half light of their bedchamber Stannis was startled he found the contrast intriguing. 

“I will not have it said that I cannot please my lord husband, the Prince of the North,” Stannis squirmed out of his formal clothing, far too many layers in his opinion, and folded them before Eddard could object. “That he chose unwisely.” 

“Stannis, in this moment, in these chambers,” Eddard took off his cloak and placed the pewter brooch one of the tables. “There is only the pair of us. What we do together is our business.” 

Eddard was not yet as bare as Stannis. A situation that had Stannis unsure as to his next course of action. Ought he help undress Eddard? Ought he go to their bed? Or should he initiate physical affection? Stannis chose the second option for it seemed the one with the least room for mistakes. 

A direwolf and a stag were rendered on the counterpane, ostentatious perhaps, but Stannis felt the slightest bit comforted at a bold emblem of their union. Goosebumps broke out all over his skin as he slid under the counterpane and told himself he was not hiding. Stannis counted the stones of the wall until Eddard was beside him. 

“We can just sleep,” his husband reiterated. 

“I must at least make the attempt at pleasing you,” scowled Stannis. “My conscience will not allow it. Kiss me as you have before.” 

“Gladly,” Eddard complied. The kiss was deeper than the one they’d shared in the garden. 

Heat and wetness became Stannis’ world, that in addition the feel of Eddard’s bare skin against his. Every point their bodies touched sparked a new sensation. Stannis was overwhelmed and they’d barely started. Eddard broke their kisses when Stannis’ breathing became too ragged. 

“What do you want next?” Eddard asked quietly and without judgment. 

“I know not,” Stannis bit his lip, a mistake as it was already puffy from their kissing. “This is more than I have ever experienced.” 

Eddard was taken aback or so Stannis inferred. He stroked Stannis’ hair, something Stannis was swiftly starting to crave. “I supposed you have not taken lovers from what you’ve told me. But have you never taken care of yourself?” 

“Rarely,” Stannis closed his eyes. “Almost never.”

“Does it pain you? Have you been hurt?” Eddard thumbed Stannis’ cheek. 

“No, it seemed an indulgence. A debasement.” His heart thumped hard in his chest. 

“Ah,” Eddard kissed Stannis until he opened his eyes once more. Winter gray met storm blue. “Southron folks consider it such. We do not in the North.” 

“Truly?” Stannis had heard that Northmen differed morally on some points. 

“Truly,” said Eddard. “Of course we don’t think well of those who are nothing but lustful. But there is no shame in coupling when both are willing.” 

“I am willing if you will teach me,” Stannis took one of Eddard’s hands and put it between his legs. “I-I am hungry when it is with you, Eddard.” 

Eddard’s swordsman callouses and his steady grip stoked that hunger quickly and well. He brought Eddard’s head back down to drown in kisses. 

Hardness to hardness Stannis was pleased to know Eddard was gratified with him. Equally by the feel of things. He spread his legs wider to better hold Eddard between them. 

The pleasure whorled at the base of Stannis’ spine, cresting and ebbing wildly. Stannis was not proud that he grabbed Ned’s hair and nearly clacked their teeth when release found him. But it did not seem to put a damper on proceedings as Eddard climaxed not far after Stannis. 

“Stannis.” His name was pronounced with all the reverence of a prayer and lacquered with a honeyed affection Stannis was sure he did not deserve. 

“Eddard, thank you,” Stannis stroked Eddard’s back, reveling in the weight atop him. “Ned.”

The venture was a success for Ned nuzzled him with a content noise before answering, “No thanks are needed between us. For I will always be grateful for the the gifts you share with me.” 

“There is more to full consummation is there not, Ned?” Stannis curled his toes. 

“There is if you want it to be,” Ned said with a warm smile. 

“The night is young,” Stannis pointed out. “Teach me, Ned?” 

Ned turned out to be an excellent tutor.

Sometime later Ned’s finger covered in oil worked in and out of Stannis while his mouth lapped at Stannis’ cockstand. Stannis covered his eyes with a forearm while his other hand clutched the blankets. It was much too much. 

Stannis had seldom given thought to specific acts of carnality until his recent library sojourn. Now he had a doting husband who was happy to fill in the gaps of his experience so to speak. 

Ned pulled away from where his tongue had been teasing the crown of Stannis’ shaft and rubbed his hand against the pale skin of Stannis’ thigh. “Is this too much?”

“Entirely,” Stannis gasped and gulped, but he couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be. Had his thighs always been so sensitive? “I like it. More than is probably good for me.” 

Ned added another finger. If Stannis shouted in shocked pleasure there was no one else to hear him so he minded not. 

Besides Ned seemed to take his articulations as the proof of appreciation they were. Stannis lasted longer than their earlier dalliance. Which wasn’t to say he lasted that long, but it was longer. Certainly that was an improvement at the very least. This second session of theirs introduced Stannis to the notion that he rather liked penetration much better than he thought he would. 

“I fear I’ll need at least a little sleep before we embark on anything more tonight,” Ned panted as Stannis was still contracting around his fingers. 

“If you insist,” Stannis tried to sound teasing though a yawn ruined the effect. “But do you not need to put your…in me? For consummation?” 

Slowly Ned removed his fingers and moved up the bed to kiss Stannis’ neck with a languid playfulness. “Need? I do not need anything more than your company and happiness. But that act can wait. It is better to build up to it than to rush.” 

Sleep lapped at the edges of his consciousness, Stannis’ eyes could no longer stay open. Really it was only then natural to curl up against Ned and pull the covers over them to ward off the night chill. “But we shall consummate more fully? Tomorrow or the next night?” 

“Yes,” Ned said. “As often as you like.” 

To do something pleasurable simply because he liked it was novelty itself to Stannis. But he reasoned that it was his lord husband who was encouraging it and he was honor bound to give comfort to his spouse. Marriage was looking better and better.

Stannis thought that perhaps he might have a happy ending after all was said and done. 

He hoped to be worthy of it.


	3. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis should have known there would be complications.

It could not last because nothing wonderful could ever last for Stannis Baratheon. 

“Tell me plainly, Lord Stark.” Stannis’ voice did not waver. A queer calm had overtaken him. “Is there a woman?” 

Ned heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “No, my husband.” 

“A man?” His eyes went hot with an unwelcome sting. How could Stannis have ever thought he could keep Ned’s attention, keep any spouse’s attention? They had nine months of wedded bliss, and bliss it had been, not even a year of happiness before everything was ruined.

Stannis wanted to believe him. Wanted it more than anything. “Then explain Lord Stark your visits into the Stormlands every month. You disappear and return all the while I hear reports of a mistress. I did not credit them. But they persist and from more and more credible sources.”

Ned’s face crumpled and he seemed on the verge of kneeling. Stannis dearly wished he would not. “I have never strayed from our marriage bed, Stannis. Believe me when I say there is no one else in my heart.” 

“Explain yourself, Lord Stark. I will not ask again.” Ice entered his veins. Stannis felt colder than any Northman in midwinter. 

“There is a child,” said Ned. He inhaled raggedly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He was born before we wed.” 

That was not what Stannis expected. 

“A child.” 

“Yes, husband.” 

“A Stark child.” 

“Yes,” Ned’s voice cracked here. If Stannis was a man of poetry or romance he might have said Ned’s heart was breaking as well. Or perhaps it was his own. 

“What of the mother?” The words tumbled out, each one more rushed than the last and vibrating with something Stannis couldn’t name. “Why did you not marry her? Why did you even consider our betrothal if your heart or…interests laid elsewhere? Why have you never mentioned the child before we wed?” 

Stannis clenched his fists and forced himself not to turn his back on Ned. Whatever answers he received Stannis was unlikely to be pleased at any of them, but he needed to see this through. 

“Under no circumstances would I have been able to marry the child’s mother,” Ned spoke slowly as he chose each word with great care. “At the time of our courtship I was uncertain still as to how best to provide for the child. It was wrong of me not to avail you of all the facts before our marriage.” 

Was this simply anger? Disappointment? Despair? Everything tangled together like spring fair ribbons. Stannis tried to examine the workings of his heart, his head, and could latch onto nothing. He was drowning in emotion. 

It was an unpleasantness not to be borne. 

“I need time to consider the matter.” Stannis did turn his back now. He faced the wall and stared at the tapestries. The hunting scenes had once afforded him and Ned amusement. Giddy from wine they had made up some little story about the figures of the hunt and embellished it every few nights for several weeks after to entertain each other.

“I understand,” said Ned after the silence thickened enough to border on poisonous. He left without ceremony and where he went Stannis could not guess. There were guest chambers enough in the Red Keep. Just as there were servants enough in the Red Keep to spread the tale that the Prince and Lord of Dragonstone were in the midst of marital strife. 

Stannis was content to be miserable in solitude the rest of the night. 

Ser Seaworth came around in the morning. It was not unusual. They met most days even when there was no pressing master of ships business. But from Davos’ crinkled brow it was apparent he knew something. 

“Good morning, Lord Stannis,” Ser Davos said with a smile that was only slightly strained. “Shall we inspect the yards today as planned?” 

Thus the yards were inspected and the recruits at the barracks were doing well. While a large naval body was no longer required in peacetime there was a dedicated fleet to protect Westerosi ships from pirates and discourage smuggling. The day passed normally and Stannis could half-pretend that he wasn’t aching for his husband. 

It lasted until late afternoon when they took light refreshment in Ser Davos’ chambers. They were smaller than the ones Stannis and Ned shared, but comfortably appointed. After the maids and pages scurried away Stannis gave an account of the whole sorry tale. It could not be helped considering Davos and his informants had been to the first to alert him to Ned’s mysterious errands. 

“What will you do, my lord?” asked Ser Davos.

“I know not what,” Stannis admitted, frustrated that his breath sounded ragged to his own ears. “What is there to do? Annul our marriage and let him marry the child’s mother? Act indifferent and ignore the child’s existence?” 

Ser Davos ripped a small piece off the loaf of bread, toying with it while he was deep in thought. “What do you want to do? All court etiquette aside, do you wish to cast off Lord Stark?”

Pride wanted him to do exactly that. To forget that he naively believed himself deserving of marital felicity. But pride which had once been the loudest voice in his heart was crowded out by tender memories of Ned’s affection and regard for him. “If this had happened during our marriage I would do so without a second thought.” 

Stannis was not sure of that point, but his dignity demanded he speak such. 

“By his account it happened during the war when he was unattached,” Davos said. No judgment colored his voice, his right-hand man was unruffled and plainspoken as ever to Stannis’ relief. “That does not entirely excuse him, of course.” 

“He should have married the lady in question,” huffed Stannis. Then he drank half his bowl of soup to stop his rash lips from saying anything more.

“He said he could not,” pointed out Davos. “Your brother did not wed the mothers of his two children and understandably so.” 

“Both my blasted brother and husband ought to have kept their breeches tied, damn them!” Had he Robert’s temper he might have hurled his soup bowl on the floor. Instead Stannis made fists tight enough that red crescents sprouted on his palms. “It is unlike Lord Stark to have conducted himself in such a manner. I would sooner believe him hiding a child of Robert’s, but we know that is not so.” 

“Men and women alike make mistakes, my lord,” Davos held up his left hand and quirked an eyebrow meaningfully. “Your lord husband seems to be trying to correct past misdeeds. He was wrong not to tell you before you wed, that is true.” 

“How is it that a man can be torn so?” Stannis was startled to catch himself grinding his teeth. “Part of me wishes to make excuses for Eddard’s behavior. To tell myself he is honorable and it was folly and to act as though nothing were wrong. And the other part of me wishes to forget him, to banish him from my life.” So that he cannot wound me again were the words unvoiced. 

“It can often be like that with loved ones,” Davos said, lips pursed in sympathy. “We wish them to always act admirably and pleasantly.”

“Robert never surprises me with his untoward deeds,” sighed Stannis. He was not one for sighs, but this one seemed to empty his lungs. “I thought myself inured.” 

Davos nodded and stroked his chin pensively. “Aye, but the king is your blood. You did not choose him the way you chose Lord Stark. And you have the benefit of knowing your brother your whole life, knowing what behaviors are to expect of him.” 

“Forgive me Ser Davos.” Stannis shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I ought not be so familiar, but I beg your voice of experience. You have been married longer than I…” 

“Ah.” Now it was Davos’ turn to move about his seat. “Marya and I wed out of fancy. We had no debts or obligations hanging over our heads like the gentry, or some in great poverty, do. There have been struggles, but we get along both in close quarters and at a distance.” 

“Have either of you ever gave the other cause to doubt your bond?” Stannis asked with unsteady timbre. 

“Marya knew I was a smuggler at the start,” started Davos. “But there were certain transactions I made and associates I had that nearly had her ready to leave me. In hindsight she was always right about which runs were not worth the risk and which seamen proved untrustworthy. I am sorry to say it was my foolishness that caused what strife we’ve had.” 

Stannis could understand that. “I appreciate your forthrightness, Ser Davos.” 

“I wish I could give you better counsel, my lord,” Davos replied. “But I’m afraid I can’t offer much other than my unwavering support in your eventual decision.” 

“Do not support me yet, Ser Davos,” Stannis shook his head. “I may yet act in some unsavory manner.” 

“Doubtful, my lord, doubtful.” 

There was the temptation to bring Maester Cressen into his confidence in the matter. But that way was strewn with doubts and fear as well. He was afraid he would either fall into Cressen’s advice too readily or contrarily go against whatever it would be simply because he was a morass of contradicting emotions. 

After three more nights Stannis had arrived at his answer. Perhaps it was not a good one. 

But it was the only one Stannis decided he could live with. All that remained was to see if it was one Ned could. 

Ned came as bidden to a private study tucked away in the Hand’s Tower. Lord Arryn had given Stannis lead to use it when informed it was necessary he speak to his husband in a neutral, secluded spot. Whether the Hand knew or guessed the issue was something Stannis did not care to think upon. 

“Lord Stark, let me be clear I will never countenance a bastard in my household.” Stannis had planned his speech meticulously and while it wounded him to see Ned resigned and ragged he could not in good conscience present his decision in a sentimental manner. “There are no Storms or Snows or any such members of mine household.” 

“I understand, Stannis.” The pinched expression gave away nothing other than that Ned willing to listen no matter how uncomfortable it might become. 

“Do you love the child, Lord Stark?”

“Yes, husband.” 

“Then it is settled,” Stannis swallowed. “The only question that remains is whether you want the child to be named Stark or Baratheon.” 

“Stannis,” Ned’s eyes widened almost comically, not that Stannis found any humor in shaping the fate of an innocent child. “Are you saying…?” 

“The child has done no wrong,” said Stannis. “I will not be another nobleman that hides sins and acts self-righteous. If you feel genuine affection for the child and the child is unable to cared for by its mother than I have a moral obligation to support them. I’ll not have it whispered about that our marriage is one of falsehoods and secrets.” 

All restraint left Ned and Stannis could not find it in his heart to be displeased that his husband embraced him, tightly and fiercely. “You are the very best of men, Stannis Baratheon.” 

“Hardly,” Stannis’ reply choked halfway in his throat. “They will say I am making excuses for my spouse. That I threaten to upend the court by recognizing a natural-born son as though I expect others to follow suit.” 

“I care not what others think, only what you think, Stannis.” Ned kissed him with a softness that took Stannis by surprise. “I did not dare to hope that this could be.” 

“I could never give you a child of your blood and mine.” Betimes it occurred to Stannis that by marrying Ned he erased Ned’s hopes for a blood legacy. “And while you do not fault me for that, I would be at fault for driving you away from your child.” A long pause. “But this shall be the first and the last one, my lord husband.”

“Aye, there are no others and never will be,” Ned held him even closer. “I cannot thank you enough, Stannis.” 

“Do not thank me yet, Eddard,” Stannis replied. “We still need to convince Robert to legitimize the child without it seeming to imply offense at the neglect of his own natural children.” 

“Your wanting to do good by little Jon is worthy of thanks even if we cannot convince Robert,” said Ned. 

Jon. Likely named after Lord Arryn. Which increased the possibility of the Hand having known about the child, but there was nothing to be done about that. Stannis could see why he might agree to hide a child who was sired by his foster son during one of the bloodiest wars in centuries.

“Will your brother recognize him in the North?” wondered Stannis. “I would much prefer the child, Jon, not to be scorned wherever he may go.” 

“Catelyn will not like it,” said Ned. “And with good reason. They have only daughters so far. Recognizing Jon could mean her own children never rule the North if they fail to make a son.” 

“Can Brandon not recognize him as a Baratheon or Dragonstone?” Stannis did not need to stay in the circle of Ned’s arms, but neither was he compelled to leave them. So there he stayed reveling in Ned’s warmth and let it soothe over the past days of anguish. “Or cannot Princess Sansa or Myriame take the throne before him? Dorne allows such things.” 

“We shall see.” Ned’s lips met his again. 

Which was good enough for the present.

“Ser Davos says you’re bringing a baby here,” Renly told Stannis the next morning before he had a chance to even drink something warm for he had just risen from bed. The servants had clearly let Renly in because he was a royal himself. Stannis was thankful he had put on his nightshirt after the vigorous reunion between himself and Ned. 

“I understand Jon is a year and a half old,” Stannis shook his head to clear his thoughts from sleep. Ned was out of their chambers already, likely working on letters to Brandon or asking Lord Arryn how best to coax Robert around to their plan. 

“Is he to be my little brother?” Renly fairly bounced in his chair, and it was indeed his chair for Renly had picked it out, Qohorik brocade stuffed fat. There was a nearly matching chair in his own room and another in Robert and Lyanna’s living quarters. 

“He is your nephew,” said Stannis. “But considering how close you are in age he will certainly be something like a younger brother to you.” 

“That’s good,” Renly grinned. “I didn’t know lots of things before, but I know lots of things now so I can be a really good brother.” 

“I’m sure you will be.” Renly was taking the new development rather well. In truth Stannis was ashamed that he did not consider Renly’s perspective in the decision so it was a true relief that any potential strife in that corner was unlikely to arise. On the whole Renly was a cheerful little fellow and beloved by all at court. Lyanna especially had a soft spot for him. 

“When is he coming, Stannis? Is he coming today?” 

“Ah, I believe Ned has to arrange things first,” Stannis said. “And Robert and your aunt Lyanna must agree.” 

“Robert will say yes and so will Aunt Lyanna.” Renly was all confidence and Stannis envied him for it. “That way there is another baby to play with Aunt Lyanna’s baby when it comes.” 

“Why don’t you call on Maester Cressen and ask him how you ought prepare?” Stannis had not been so tired since his honeymoon and it was far too early in the morning to entertain Renly. “He will probably have a good many ideas.” 

Half of which would probably from The Seven-Pointed Star, but there were worse justifications to be filial. 

“But there won’t be too many babies, right Stannis?” Renly hopped off his chair.

“I cannot speak for our brother, but there will only be one with Ned and I,” Stannis answered. “Ser Davos’ sons may come to court as pages and be friendly with you. And you may end up liking being a wise uncle.” 

“Yes, I might,” agreed Renly. 

Which was one brother persuaded.

“So you’re taking in Ned’s bastard?” Robert raised in eyebrow during their private audience. “Do you think I should be making my girls princesses?” 

“The situations are naturally very different, Robert.” Stannis felt a headache blooming behind his eyes. “I cannot give my husband a child, a son. And my Eddard is not king. This is no insult to your own choices.” 

Even though Stannis very much disapproved of many of Robert’s decisions. But Robert already knew that and it was not relevant to the situation at hand. 

Robert laughed, “I know you don’t like my having children out of wedlock, Stannis. Don’t pretend elsewise. But it’s nice to see you take that stick out of your arse when it comes to Ned.” 

“Your Majesty is all graciousness.” Stannis’ iciness resurfaced and Robert simply laughed harder. 

“Join the rest of the human race, Stannis, we are all hypocrites down the last man,” said Robert. “I’ll legitimize the wee thing. But you must promise me you’ll be kind to him, yes? It would crush Ned if you were cold to his son for that would be worse than having the boy hidden away.”

“I had no intention of being cruel,” frowned Stannis. 

“I said ‘cold’ not ‘cruel,’” Robert tutted. A rare thing for Robert had never tutted in Stannis’ presence before. The mannerism was probably from being under Lord Arryn’s care. “But coldness is cruel it a child. Treat the boy as you do Renly, you’re tolerable well with him.” 

“Thank you, Robert.” A compliment in addition to the boon was more than Stannis expected. “Jon will thank you too, in time.” 

“Jon Stark of Dragonstone has a good ring to it.” Robert was pleased at his own beneficence. “If Brandon and his wife mislike it they may snub as they please. Westerosi law means nothing up North and it costs them little to let Ned be happy here with us.” 

Queen Lyanna stopped him on his way out of Robert’s solar. 

“Good-brother, I thank you,” Lyanna clasped his hand warmly. 

“Your brother has thanked me enough,” Stannis flushed as he thought of the love-bites hidden under his doublet. “In truth I thought perhaps the rest of House Stark might not look kindly on it.”

“We have lost many, much like House Baratheon,” Lyanna’s gray eyes did not water yet there was no mistaking the sadness in them. “You are kind to let Ned raise the child so that we do not lose another Stark.” 

Stannis did not consider himself the type to be flustered by womenfolk and he was not. Yet Lyanna’s gratitude had his tongue tied. He finally replied, “I hope it is well for all of us, good-sister.” 

Little Jon Stark of Dragonstone arrived with Ned, a nursemaid, and wide gray eyes a fortnight later. Whoever his other parent had been Stannis could see no trace of them in Jon as he was all Stark in appearance. It was the closest Stannis would ever know of Ned as a child. 

“He grabbed my finger!” Renly crowed in the royal nursery. The suite had been reopened since Lyanna was announced to be with child and the royal couple were kindly allowing Jon to reside there well. The Queen thought cousins ought be close. “Look Stannis! He likes me!” 

No one had the heart to tell Renly that babes often grabbed what was nearest to them. Davos even ruffled Renly’s hair and told him it was a sign they would be brotherly before he knew it. 

“He is the spitting image of you, husband,” Stannis murmured to Ned. The resemblance would be uncanny if Stannis hadn’t already seen how much the Stark traits passed down without much dilution. Brandon, Lyanna, and Ned more strongly resembled each other than Stannis and Robert did each other. 

“You do not regret bringing him here?” A trace of worry quavered in Ned’s voice and Stannis knew the day had been more emotional than not. 

Jon stared intently, parsing which of these bevy of strangers to trust. The seriousness of his expressions was so like Ned that Stannis felt fondness rising in him. He was not jealous of the boy’s mother anymore, indeed he felt sorry for her. Jon's triumphs and tragedies would belong to their family now, not hers.

“He was your son and now he is our son to raise up well,” Stannis let his own finger be grabbed by the child. “I will only have regrets if I fail him or you.” 

Ned squeezed Stannis’ free hand. Between the two felt like homecoming. 

“He likes you too, Stannis!” cheered Renly. “Uncle Ned did you see he likes Stannis?” 

"It is well he does." Ned sounded like his heart was full to bursting and Stannis felt humbled to be a part of his joy.

Renly leaned over to press a kiss on top of Jon’s curly head. “I’m going to teach you everything! I’m going to be the best uncle and you will love King’s Landing.” 

"Aye, that you will and he will," Davos agreed. 

Davos had yet to be wrong. Which meant the odds were in their favor.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Styles and titles are attempted here, but Martin's canon system is not as refined as actual medieval and Renaissance ones were. Ned here juggles both a lordly title and a princely title to show he has status in both the independent North kingdom and in the southron kingdoms, he's not simply visiting royalty. Northmen would consider him the prince and heir to the Northern throne until Brandon and Catelyn have a son (who would then displace him as the prince-heir). In the south he's a lord because Robert made him one and he's assumed to be living there permanently. 
> 
> \- Title adapted from the Rumi verse "Be melting snow, wash yourself of yourself."


End file.
